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The Things We Leave Behind
I reached for you in the endless night,
A fading soul, a fragment of light,
You slipped like stardust through my hands,
Like footprints swallowed by the shifting sands.
Continue readingAsphyxia
I dug my grave and lay in it.
Here comes a little light scattered through the boarded windows
as the eye goes blink once twice three more-
Hands out like grasping branches I claw
Yearning
(and once again, in this hollow void)
World spinning numbed puppet of Death.
(is this what love is?)
Midnight, comfort for these weary souls,
a thousand little wishes streaking through this rose-tinted twilight-
Here comes the dark, come to take mine away,
little pieces coalesce into an eternal frenzy,
and as I swallow,
the voices strangle my soul.
A maelstrom of memory, a diamond in the rough,
the voices strangle my soul.
Rust, a parasite chewing its jagged teeth through the fender.
(I’m losing my mind)
(I’ve bled your name every night)
(souring, souring bile in my throat, the bitter taste of wet wool thickening until the thoughts go quiet and the teeth splinter where words turn to burning ash)
When you’ve taken it all, what will I have left?
When you’ve stolen it all, who will I have left?
(is this what love is?)
Signing off…
The Static On Channel 11
The old television in the corner of the living room wasn’t even plugged in, but at 3:03 AM, it hummed to life anyway.
Clara sat on the edge of the mattress, the floorboards cold beneath her bare feet. The screen didn’t show a movie, or even the standard grey snow of a dead channel. Instead, it cast a pale, bruising purple light across the peeling wallpaper.
Through the heavy static, a sound began to bleed into the room. It was the distinct, rhythmic sloshing of water, followed by the faint, muffled ring of a bicycle bell.
Continue readingLost and Found
For anyone wondering, the miliscape Instagram account is: https://www.instagram.com/miliscape_09?igsh=eW5tOTFia2JtbGQ1
Again, apologies for the delays:( I’ve been swamped by everything Y11 and couldn’t find the inspiration to write after hours worth of studying…
Continue readingYROMEM
Port Macquarie
Fragments Of Us
Lyrics- ‘Heather’, by Conan Gray
I still remember, third of December…
You had a habit of keeping things. A keyring, a lock of hair, a stray red ribbon. You held them up to the light like they were treasure. I never understood why, not even when you explained they reminded you of life, so that fifty years later, when you were old and gray, you would look back on these memories with joy. Those memories weren’t even yours, yet you held them close.
Continue readingThe Spice Drawer
“Too much garlic!” Amma snaps, muttering in Bengali.
She wants it her way- ancestral, based on her intuition, no rules, no measurements.
I tap numbers into my phone. Science over soul, any day.
She rolls her eyes. Bangles clink. I stir the pot. My speaker blasts music.
The kitchen’s a war zone.
She slides in a pinch of cumin, claiming her territory.
We collide over one pot.
“This is really good! What’d you put in it?”
Maybe flavour isn’t about being the same.
Signing off…
Threadbare
The dinner table was set for four. Most chairs were never used, though. Mum still wiped every placemat down. Dad still buttered his eggs and fried his toast in front of the television. I gasped. The air pressed down.
No one smiled or shouted. Words became kindling.
When I dropped my spoon, Dad looked up. Mum raised her eyebrow.
A match was struck.
The start of something real again.
But then, they looked away again. The house fell silent.
Sometimes, I think we’ve burned, and all that’s left is the ache of ash learning to breathe.
Signing off…